I answered my phone yesterday and found myself speaking to a reporter from the Lombard Daily Herald. It seems Lombard residents have caught the chicken bug (not to be confused with avian flu) and are working to get their city council to consider allowing backyard fowl! Let’s hope that Lombard’s efforts have the same effect as Evanston’s! Check out the Daily Herald article here.

The bottom line, in the opinion of the urban chicken consultant, is education. A well-informed chicken-keeping populace makes decisions that are better for the neighbors, the hens, and the city. Education goes a long way in convincing city council that this is a valid and worthwhile prospect.

The rubber chicken purse makes a definite statement. I’m not quite sure what that statement is yet, but I’ve found that people remember the purse more than they remember me. Either that, or they leave lots of room on either side of me as I walk down the street.

For an urban chicken consultant, this purse also functions as a marketing tool. Nothing gets a conversation going like a rubber chicken purse. Therefore it is a tax-deductible business expense (I’m hoping my accountant isn’t reading this…).

Chicago residents can find this chicksessory at the Chicago Architecture Foundation and Hoypoloi Gallery (my FAVORITE Chicago art gallery). Those not lucky enough to have access to Hoypoloi Gallery (or Chicago) can purchase the purse online.

For those who truly want to maximize accessorizing potential, try the rubber chicken change purse.

Roll back the years to 1985. I was in fourth grade, Mr. Summers’ science class. We did a project on embryology, lining up rows of white eggs marked + and 0, pointed end slightly downward, in a white styrofoam incubator. I remember peering through the plastic windows, looking at those eggs. Twenty-one days is a long time when you’re only 10 years old.

Mr. Summers taught us how to candle the eggs with a flashlight to determine the viability of the embryo. The phrase “one rotten egg spoils the whole bunch”… oh, wait, that’s the Swedish version… nevertheless, it’s true. Gases escaping from an infertile or unviable egg can ruin the hatch. We pulled those out and threw them away.

We used a scalpel and cut a tiny window in one hard calcium shell, using wax to seal it off with plastic wrap. Blood vessels carried oxygen-rich fluid to a tiny heart, beating a pulse of new life. I liked the egg with the window and candling. How exciting to see something come from nothing, a tiny life form from what would otherwise be breakfast.

The days passed. We turned the eggs. More days passed. And finally one day, there was moisture on the incubator windows. A tiny yellow chick, wet, weak, and weary, had arrived. The rest of the flock soon followed, and before long the little guys were dry, energetic balls of fluff.

Sadly, the one we’d had a window on, whose development we’d watched with curiosity over the last three weeks, didn’t make it. Like Schroedinger’s cat, it seemed the very observation of life in the making destroyed it. My 10-year-old’s heart was sad for that chick and sorry that our curiosity and desire to know more had killed it.

Did we want to take some home? was the question Mr. Summers posed. Of course, yes! My two little chicks landed in a cardboard box behind the chair in the living room. They were soon joined by my friend Sam’s chicks (her parents decided that chickens weren’t a good idea) and a fuzzy buff-colored chick from my Pappy. I’d inspect the box of avian energy several times a day, to which my mother said, “Don’t pester those chicks! You’ll kill them!”

Far from that: After all my high-quality handling, those were some of the tamest white Leghorns on the planet. Personalities became evident, and naming soon followed: Baby, the sweet, docile hen; Jitterbug, the slightly schizo, easily startled hen; Hot Stuff, alpha male; and his subservient sidekick, Little Boy. The buff-colored one, well, she was just Red Hen.

A life-long fascination (obsession?) with chickens and other fowl followed hard on the heels of those first little fuzzy critters. I soon had my own incubator. I sold chicks at Easter, eggs to the neighbors, boxes of fowl at stock market. Ducks, peafowl, turkeys, quail, golden pheasants, geese, pigeons… The incubator was running almost all summer, and I candled and turned, and turned and candled, enjoying taking part in the process of new life. But I never cut a hole in an egg to watch a chick grow.

Backyard hens had a chance to meet a number of two-legged mammal critters on October 3, during the Hen-apalooza Coop Tour in Chicago on October 3, 2010.

Encompassing several neighborhoods that have been overtaken by barnyard fowl, the tour, organized by the Chicago Chicken Enthusiasts and Martha Boyd of Angelic Organics Learning Center, offered chicken owners, would-be owners, and the curious public the opportunity to take a peek inside the city’s backyard poultry fad.

Chicago’s chicken keepers and folks as far away as northern Indiana had a chance to swap tips, see new ideas in action, and connect with other chicken keepers. Home to Roost Urban Chicken Consulting presented a short six-point inspection–a quick chicken check-up to assess a bird’s health.

The Chicago Sun-Times deemed the event worthy of coverage, and their scoop on the coop tour is here.

Despite it being a crisp, fall day, the turn-out at the 15 featured coop locations was impressive considering the short time frame from inception to event. The Chicago Chicken Enthusiasts are working on a bigger and better Hen-apalooza for the future! Stay tuned!

Well, being a chicken fancier, I’d say the answer is obvious. But if you need some convincing—better yet, if your spouse/significant other/parents need some convincing!—here’s my list of answers to that question.

Eggs. ‘Nuff said. Actually, they’re fresher, tastier, and look better than store-bought eggs. The yolk will be perky and a deep yellow from natural compounds called xanthophylls that the hens get from corn, alfalfa, or other greens. For more info on eggs and egg-carton labels, see my post Egg Labels: What’s in a Name?

Education. Kids as much as adults need to realize that a good answer for the question, “Where do eggs come from?” is not “The store.” It’s a great educational process (as well as an exercise in responsibility) for kids (and adults) to care for another living creature.

Health. Yup, those backyard eggs will most likely be salmonella free! Hens that are well kept will not succumb to disease and will most likely not harbor salmonella bacteria. For more info, see my post The Scoop on Salmonella in Eggs.

Self-Sufficiency. The closeted pioneer in all of us swells with pride when we see a source of food running around in the backyard. Whether folks choose to eat just the eggs or to eat the chickens, too, we feel we’re pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps, contributing to a larger good for the health of the world.

Animal Welfare. If you’ve not seen pictures of laying hens in battery cages, Google it. It’s not a pretty sight. For every hen in someone’s backyard, one less battery hen will be tortured for her short (2 years max) existence. We all get that one.

Composting. So if your kids won’t turn your compost pile, the chickens will! Lots of tasty creepy-crawlies live in compost heaps. Hens want these delectable sources of protein—so they scratch and dig for them. They also love to dustbathe, which involves kicking up all kinds of dirt.

Poop. Mmmmm… Nitrogen-rich fertilizer! What could be better for the garden? Chicken poop has lots of ammonia, which decomposes into nitrogen. Caveat emptor, however: chicken poop is hot compost and should be properly processed before applying to plants. For more info on this see The scoop on poop, or how is poop like raku pottery?

Personality. Yep, chickens have them—in abundance. You’ll discover the mischievous one, the singer, the clown, the psychopath, the leader, the sweetheart. They’re all out there, waiting to meet you!

Simplicity. There is something sacred and unique that ties people with animals with the land. Keeping chickens is a celebration of something less hurried, more wholesome, and timeless, a kind of ecological synergy.

Fun. I’ve always had fun with chickens, since I was 10. Baby chicks are about the cutest things you’ll ever see, next to… well, I can’t think of anything! It’s great to watch them grow into awkward teenagers, with their gangly legs and changing voices. And getting your first egg is really something to crow about! The ladies are endlessly entertaining as they pick up their skirts and chase some tasty tidbit or come in for an afternoon snack on the porch.